i hate dreaming of being alone

DEIMOS

Two lifetimes taught him loss. War and invasions. Friends gone and buried. It didn’t make the notions any easier; it just made the heartache deeper, the wounds festering, decaying, rotting him from the inside out. Detachment encouraged him not to even bother any longer; comfort in weaponry, in machinations, in conspiring to topple kingdoms rather than concern himself with regards to anyone. He’d loved and cherished still, when they all managed to sink and immerse themselves in his cold, decrepit, withered heart, and it didn’t make it any better when they left him too – when perishing bonds and things were the one thing he could understand, when worlds turned colder and bolder. So he didn’t have an answer for her, not really – he’d dragged himself through crypts, through catacombs, through makeshift graveyards, hung his sorrows right across his shoulders and didn’t address them. Let them mar, let them ruin, let them claw, let them suffocate, like they did now. That is all I have ever done. And she looked away from him, and so he hung his head, tucked it against his chest, paid no attention to the ornaments, to the adornments, to the room filled with color and mirth. What do I do instead?

Her ire, her frustrations pummeled. Why he bothered to make any noise, any sense, any sensation at all was beyond him – striving to alleviate the pain and torment when it just continued on its circular motions. “We made memorials sometimes. In Helovia. In Isilme.” For those who’d died and been placed in mass graves, for those unidentifiable, for those gone and gone. “But we have parts of them.” He raised his head, gestured to the walls, to the room, thought back to the gift Adam had extended him – half a joke, now at the bottom of his bag.

i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky